WAVE PIRATE
That pirate walking around, without a wooden leg,
a modern-day buccaneer,
lives on a boat in the Manzanares,
He goes out at night to sail,
among ducks and stars.
The pirate smiles,
everyone chases him,
the tax authorities for being poor.
Creditors chase him,
but he doesn't care, he sails in his sailboat,
under the bridges, he lights a candle.
And at night he fishes for a can of sardines,
he lives poorly under the bridges, they are his castles,
That pirate is so handsome that in rags he is a prince,
he is the king of beggars in a big, ***** city.
And he sails again and again into the distant past,
and despite having nothing, he is happy,
because he sails anew,
he dreams of ocean waves.
He has nothing,
he can't lose anything more,
everyone fits in his court,
and the beggars smile.
The pirate tells stories,
of better times past,
and sometimes when they have money,
they sail in a small boat in the Retiro Park.
And still, women turn their heads when he passes,
it's not common to see a pirate in Madrid,
A handsome pirate, whose poems are copied,
and I, an anonymous poet who plagiarizes the pirate,
and I sit with the others,
I listen to their stories,
and I dream.
Enthralled by the stories,
stories of a pirate who was someone,
now he is just someone, whose verses are to be copied,
anonymous poems that it's a shame to just let them get lost.
Fables of a pirate, stories of impossible boats,
those boats that are sailboats in the Manzanares,
a pirate who was shipwrecked among garbage bags,
unknown stories of Madrid,
that no one knows if they are true.
Stories of a wave pirate,
Fables of a life that shipwrecked,
tender stories that have a sad ending.
